Every thought derives from a thwarted sensation.

Intelligence flourishes only in the ages when belief withers.

That history just unfolds, independently of a specified direction, of a goal, no one is willing to admit.

Crime in full glory consolidates authority by the sacred fear it inspires.

Only those moments count, when the desire to remain by yourself is so powerful that you'd prefer to blow your brains out than exchange a word with someone.

On Creating — What we crave, what we want to see in others eyes, is that servile expression, an unconcealed infatuation with our gestures.

There is no other world. Nor even this one. What, then, is there? The inner smile provoked in us by the patent nonexistence of both.